A Garden of Roses
by Herebedragons66
Summary: Eleanor Cousland takes young Anora Mac Tir under her wing, and over the years, the two women develop a warm friendship. This story is part of the 2014 Dragon Age Big Bang; gorgeous artwork by MessereHawke. While "A Garden of Roses" takes place in the timeline of "Unshaken by the Darkness," it stands alone, and no knowledge of my bigger story is needed.
1. The most gracious woman I've ever known

_**1 Bloomingtide, 9:12 Dragon  
**__**Denerim Palace**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

Summerday was warmer than usual this year.

Or perhaps it just seemed warmer because Eleanor Cousland was as big as a house. Maker's breath, but she hadn't gotten nearly this big with Fergus, had she? And the new baby wasn't even due for another two months.

Not that she had reason for complaint. For the most part, she felt perfectly healthy this time around, just as she had with Fergus. There had been a month or so of mild sickness near the beginning, and now that her center of gravity had shifted, she felt awkward and a bit clumsy, but otherwise, she had felt just fine - mercifully so - throughout the months of her pregnancy.

Her nose was a bit sensitive, though- the odor of the fish course that had just been served at dinner had made her slightly nauseous. A pity; it was Hafter River trout, grilled with rosemary, sage and thyme - usually one of Eleanor's favorite dishes - but on this particular occasion she had to take slow, deep breaths through her mouth to keep her stomach from heaving in protest.

Tonight, a single, long banquet table was set up at one end of the great hall of the Denerim palace; there were not enough members of the nobility in town at this time of the year to warrant the use of the entire room. That was a mercy; the thought of a room packed full of people, all of them talking at once, was horrible and more than a bit overwhelming just now. About twenty people were in attendance, mostly those who lived in Denerim or the Coastlands. It was a perfect number so that conversation flowed easily, and Eleanor could sit back quietly and relax for a few minutes when she felt tired, but not so many that everyone needed to shout to be heard.

Eleanor sat between Maric and Bann Esmerelle. The Bann of Amaranthine City had made only a cursory attempt to be gracious to Eleanor, and then had turned away to speak with Rendon Howe. This wasn't particularly surprising; Esmerelle had never approved of Eleanor. Apparently, being a Cousland by marriage wasn't enough to legitimize Eleanor's claim to nobility, and her own family, the Drydens, had not been ranked among the nobles for the past two hundred years. It was amusing, to be honest, to watch Esmerelle do her best not to be openly rude to her teyrna, mostly because Esmerelle's best was not at all convincing.

Not that the lack of Esmerelle's conversation was a hardship. Much nicer to have a moment to breathe, quietly, without having to make forced small talk with a woman Eleanor had always found unpleasant.

Eleanor glanced at the faces of the others seated nearby, and her gaze settled on Anora Mac Tir. She was a gorgeous child, with hair like spun gold that hung loose past her shoulders, and bright blue eyes. If it weren't for those eyes, it would almost be difficult to believe she was Loghain Mac Tir's child. In their looks, they were different as night and day - Anora was bright like the sun, while Loghain was dark, like a moonlit night. Seeing them together for any length of time, however, it was obvious they were father and daughter; they shared so many mannerisms. The tilt of a chin, the straight-backed posture, the arch of a brow. True, the child didn't often volunteer to speak, but when she did have something to say, it was always well thought out and intelligent. Again, she was like her father in that regard - conserving her words, and giving them out sparingly.

How old was Anora, anyway? She had been born just two weeks after Fergus, if Eleanor's memory served. Which made her eight years old, very nearly nine. Yes, that sounded right.

Today, Anora seemed a bit on edge. She sat perfectly straight, with her hands folded in her lap whenever they weren't engaged in carefully and precisely handling her cutlery, and glanced frequently at her father, as if she wanted to ask him something. He was deep in conversation with Leonas Bryland, though, and the girl couldn't catch his attention. Of course, she couldn't turn to her mother; Celia Mac Tir hadn't paid a visit to Denerim since Anora was a baby.

As though she sensed Eleanor's scrutiny, Anora's gaze flitted across the table. Her eyes widened when she saw Eleanor watching.

Eleanor gave a bright, warm smile.

After a moment's hesitation, Anora smiled in return.

A gentle hand on Eleanor's arm pulled her attention to Maric. "You're looking remarkably well," the king said warmly. "I hope that isn't just an illusion. Please tell me you're feeling as robust as you look."

"I do feel remarkably well," Eleanor replied, smiling at Maric's flair for the dramatic. "It's a bit warm for me today, but other than that, I cannot complain."

He beamed at her. "I'm glad to hear it. I look forward to meeting this new little person of yours. Your first little person is growing up to be fine young gentleman, after all."

Eleanor glanced at the end of the table, where Fergus sat beside Cailan. The two boys had their heads close together, as though they were whispering secrets they would prefer the grownups not to overhear.

She smiled fondly. "He is, at that, isn't he?" she mused.

"You shall have to send me a note the minute the new baby arrives," Maric continued, "so I can pay you both a visit in Highever." Fine lines appeared at the corners of his eyes when he grinned. "Well, perhaps you shouldn't send the note yourself - I expect you'll have other things on your mind besides writing notes."

Eleanor rubbed at her belly. "It's a distinct possibility," she said wryly.

"So of course you shall make Bryce do it. Yes, that's precisely what should happen - you have my authority to insist upon it." The king seemed in excellent spirits today.

"You would come all the way to Highever just to see the baby?" Eleanor lifted her chin. "Are you certain it's not just that Solace is one of the best times of the year for hunting partridge in the Coastlands?"

He flinched away dramatically, as though she'd struck a blow at him. "You wound me! It was the furthest thing from my mind, that the partridge would be in season. And it had definitely _not _occurred to me that Solace is the best time for catching those big hooknose salmon in the streams that run down from the hills." He gave a sheepish grin. "In truth, it's been quite a while since Loghain and I have managed a trip out of the city. I'm thinking this will give me a good excuse to bully him into coming along. But I promise, you and the baby will be fawned over excessively, and gifts brought for Fergus so he doesn't feel left out. You'll be so tired of me by the end that you'll banish us from the castle, and we'll have nothing to do but go fishing instead."

Eleanor laughed, and reached up to smooth the hair behind her ear - a gesture done more out of habit, than of any fear her hair was genuinely out of place. "I have no doubt you will shower an appropriate amount of attention on the baby, and the rest of the family. And have time for fishing." Still chuckling, she glanced at Anora. The girl's eyes were intent on Eleanor as she smoothed back her own hair, in a gesture very like the one Eleanor had made.

When Anora noticed Eleanor watching, the girl looked away quickly, and her hand dropped back into her lap.

"It's good to see Fergus and Cailan getting along so well," Maric mused, his eyes again on his son as he drew Eleanor's attention once more. "I think it's good for Cailan to be around someone his own age. He spends so much of his time alone, or with me and Loghain, or Mother Ailis. Maker knows what sort of influence the three of us are having on the boy."

"I'm sure you're doing just fine," Eleanor assured him. "But I do agree it's good for children to have friends their own age. I'd be tempted to suggest that Fergus stay here in Denerim for the rest of the summer, but I suspect he'd prefer to be in Highever when his sister - or brother - arrives."

"Are you sure?" Maric seemed visibly excited at the prospect. "Because he would be more than welcome to stay, and could travel back with us after the baby is born."

"I'll speak with Bryce about it, and see how Fergus likes the idea." She doubted Fergus would agree; he seemed genuinely excited about the baby, and more to the point Eleanor wasn't sure how well she liked the notion herself. The thought of having her first born so far away just now was vaguely terrifying; even so, she would see what Fergus wanted.

Finally, the last course was finished. Eleanor welcomed the chance to stretch her legs, and get out of the stifling heat and the motionless, stuffy air of the hall. When she rose from the table, however, she had to reach out a hand to steady herself. Her head felt muddled, and the room spun; a light sweat broke out on her forehead. A trickle of moisture slid down her spine beneath the heavy fabric of her gown.

She took in a slow, deep breath to clear her head, and Bryce appeared at her side without prompting, a gentle hand at her elbow.

"Eleanor? Is everything all right?" His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, concern settling there instead. "You look uncomfortable."

She rested her hand atop his, and gave a reassuring squeeze. "I'm fine," she said, touched by his care. "It's just a bit warm in here. I think I'm going to take a walk in the garden - see if I can find a breeze, and some reprieve from this interminable heat."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No." She smiled at him. "That's lovely, but not necessary. You haven't seen Leonas in months; I'm sure he'd appreciate some time with you. I'll be fine, I promise. I'm just going out to look at the roses for a few minutes."

He arched a brow. "If you're sure?"

"Very."

"All right." He gave her a brief kiss on the lips. "If you get tired, just stay where you are. I'll come looking for you if you're not back in half an hour."

As Eleanor walked toward one of the doors that led into the garden, a cluster of girls caught her attention. Morag Penrose, Liza Packton, and Bann Esmerelle's younger sister, Alvira, were huddled around a smaller figure - Anora Mac Tir.

That was odd. Anora didn't usually socialize with the other children; or perhaps it was more accurate to say that the other children had a habit of avoiding Anora. Those three girls in particular, all of them from Amaranthine, had a reputation for being snobbish and unkind.

Eleanor changed her course, and approached the group of girls.

"What a _shame _your mother couldn't be here today." There was an unpleasant lilt to Liza's voice.

"Yes," Morag added. "It's such a _shame_. Why don't we ever see the _teyrna_ here in Denerim?"

Anora blinked, glancing between the three girls with uncertainty. "She . . . she just doesn't like making the trip. My mother prefers to stay in Gwaren."

"Oh," Alvira purred, as a grin crept across her face. "I thought it was because she never learned proper table manners. Does she even know how to use a soup spoon, or does she just drink right from the bowl?"

Anora's eyes grew wide, and the color drained from her face.

"Hello there, girls." Eleanor's voice was just a bit louder, and sharper, than usual.

All four of their faces turned towards her.

"Oh! _Hello_, Teyrna Eleanor," Alvira said sweetly, with a slight lift of her chin She spoke the greeting far too enthusiastically, almost simpering. "We didn't see you there."

"Of course you didn't." Eleanor caught and held the young woman's eyes until Alvira's cheeks turned pink and her smile faltered, and she dropped her gaze. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves . . ."

She let it hang in the air for just a moment, just enough to see the fear blossom in their eyes. "Letting a pregnant woman sneak up on you like that, for shame. I'm the size of a bear, and you didn't hear me coming?"

The three girls from Amaranthine tittered with laughter, as though relieved Eleanor hadn't heard what was being said. The wretched little creatures. They deserved to be taken to task, but Anora was likely to be even more embarrassed if she knew Eleanor had overheard their nasty comments, so she decided reluctantly to let it drop.

Eleanor turned her eyes on Anora, who looked hopeful and immensely relieved. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I wonder if I could have a few minutes of your time? I have something rather important to discuss with you. A favor to ask."

"Of course, Your Grace," Anora replied instantly. "What can I do for you?"

"Let's go talk about it somewhere else, shall we?" Eleanor let her gaze pass across the faces of the other girls, and allowed a slight frown to play over her brow, as though she found them unworthy. "Somewhere _private_." Eleanor gave the girls a tight smile. "If you'll excuse us?"

"Of course, Teyrna Eleanor." Liza had raised the pitch of her voice to sound much younger than she had just a moment ago. Did she really think Eleanor would be fooled by this?

She gave each of the girls from Amaranthine what she hoped was a scathing enough glare that they would know she had heard exactly what was said. Perhaps it would discourage them from being so awful in the future.

Most likely it would not; they'd merely be more careful not to be overheard next time.

With a hand on Anora's shoulder, Eleanor led the way toward the door.

"Thank you for coming with me," she began. "I find myself feeling over-warm, and fancy a short walk out in the garden. Perhaps find a nice place to sit where I could feel a breeze and watch the sun set. But it makes Bryce nervous these days when I go anywhere by myself." She put a hand to the bulge at her waist. "So, I had hoped to persuade you to accompany me on my walk, if it isn't too much to ask."

"Oh, of course, Your Grace. I would be more than happy to walk in the garden with you." A crease formed across the girl's brow, but she didn't say anything more; she very carefully held the garden door for Eleanor, waiting until she was well clear before easing it gently closed behind them.

Once they were outdoors, Eleanor began to walk in the direction of the rose garden. It was her favorite part of the palace gardens; one of her favorite places in all of Denerim, in all honesty.

"Are you enjoying yourself here in the city?" Eleanor asked, trying to set the girl at ease with polite conversation.

A slight hesitation. "Yes. Of course. Denerim is much busier, and more crowded than Gwaren. It's always an adventure to visit here."

"Yes, that's how I feel about it, as well." Eleanor smiled down at Anora. "And I'm always pleased when it's time to return home to Highever."

Anora's eyes were on Eleanor rather more than the teyrna would have expected. Instead of looking at the flowers, or searching for rabbits or squirrels in the hedges, Anora seemed intent on Eleanor, and there was a slight tension in the girl's jaw.

"Have you and your father had the opportunity to do anything together since you've been here? Other than come to banquets at the palace, that is."

"Yes. He took me to Fort Drakon, so I could practice my archery. And we've walked along the waterfront, and he took me out of the city to a sort of garden where there are a lot of statues."

"Just west of the city?"

"Yes."

"I know the very place. If I'm not mistaken, there's a statue of your father there, isn't there?"

"There is." A shy smile crept across her face. "He wasn't going to show it to me, but I found it anyway. It looks silly, if you ask me. Not a thing like him."

By now, they had made their way into the rose garden. Eleanor led the way to a small arbor, and settled herself on the bench that rested in the shade of a bower of wisteria. Anora hesitated, hovering close by, until Eleanor gestured for her to sit, as well.

There was a slight breeze here, and it felt delightfully cool on Eleanor's cheeks. Already, her shoulders began to relax, and her stomach unclenched itself from the challenges of dinner. She arched her back, and then let out a long, satisfied breath.

"Thank you for coming out here with me," Eleanor said. "This is exactly what I needed. The temperature is just perfect."

"I'm glad. And I was happy to come. It was a pretty day, wasn't it? And the roses are beautiful right now." The girl looked out at the flowers, a bright smile coming to her face, the first Eleanor had seen since they left the palace. "Not quite as pretty as the ones my mother grows in Gwaren, but lovely all the same."

"Your mother likes to garden?"

"Yes." The smile slipped away slowly. "I . . . Oh. I probably shouldn't have said so."

"Why not?"

But as soon as the question left Eleanor's lips, she knew what the answer must be. Working in the garden might easily be mistaken for work best left to a commoner, not a noblewoman.

"I like to tend the gardens in Highever," Eleanor admitted quickly, to smooth over any awkwardness, "when I can find the time. There is something very satisfying about having one's hands directly in the earth. To feel its warmth, and then to watch the plants grow, and thrive. It's almost magical, really."

The smile returned to Anora's face, brighter than before. "Yes! That's exactly what my mother says. She says you can see the hand of the Maker in each small shoot that manages to push itself out the ground. That it might seem impossible that new life could come from just a tiny, hard seed. Something that looks dry and dead. But it isn't. The Maker can breath life into anything, and this is how He shows us that he loves us. Even though He doesn't talk to us anymore, we can still feel His love every time we see a plant grow."

"I'd never thought of it like that before," Eleanor mused, fighting back a smile. Anora's face had lit up while talking about the roses; it was the most animated Eleanor had ever seen the girl. "That's lovely. I suppose it's a bit like that with babies, too, isn't it? New life coming out of nowhere."

Anora went quite still - Eleanor would have almost said she tensed - but then the girl folded her hands politely in her lap. "Yes, it is," Anora agreed.

Eleanor sighed. "It is a pity your mother doesn't come to Denerim more often. I only met her once, not long after you were born."

It really was a pity; perhaps Eleanor would write to Celia Mac Tir, and extend a hand in friendship. Probably, she should have done so years ago. No wonder the teyrna of Gwaren didn't come to Denerim. Fereldan nobility was arrogant and insular, in its own way, and it had taken Eleanor a while to navigate its shark-infested waters. Perhaps Celia just hadn't had the heart to really try. The cruel words spoken by those children hadn't come out of nowhere; surely, they'd learned that from their own parents.

"I think you would like her," Anora murmured hesitantly. "She's really very nice."

Eleanor smiled gently at her. "I'm quite certain I would. Perhaps one day soon she and I will be able to spend some time together. And thank you for coming out here with me." She leaned closer, and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Now that it's just you and me, I have a confession to make."

"A confession? What is it?" The tension Eleanor had seen earlier returned.

"Nothing bad, I promise," Eleanor reassured. "It's just that when I said I wasn't feeling well, that wasn't entirely true. Yes, it was warm in there, but the truth is that feel fine. The real reason I asked you to come with me is that I wanted an opportunity for you and I to have some time together, to get to know one another a bit better. Just the two of us, without other people around. I always find it so much nicer, and easier, to talk to people one-on-one."

"Oh." Anora let out a relieved breath, and her lips curved into a slight smile. "You're not feeling ill? That's . . . that's good. I was a little bit worried." Ah. Perhaps that explained the earlier tension in the girl? Anora leaned closer. "If you do start to feel ill, you must promise to tell me right away so I can get my father." She paused. "And your husband, of course."

"Alright, I promise." Eleanor bit back a chuckle at the earnest concern in Anora's voice. It was endearing, although somewhat baffling. The child truly seemed worried. "But you mustn't worry. I am feeling fine. Better than ever, in fact. I promise, nothing is wrong."

"Good. I don't like the thought that something might happen to you, or the baby."

Anora's shoulders were still tight. Had she heard some rumor that Eleanor was feeling poorly? That sort of gossip seemed to magically appear here in Denerim, without even a shred of evidence to support it. Although, perhaps that was to be expected, after the death of Melina Bryland just two years ago, during the birth of Leonas' daughter Habren. But had Anora even known Melina? And where had she heard details about the woman's death?

"I'm sorry to have frightened you." She paused. "Is there some particular reason that you were worried? Did someone tell you I was ill?"

"No." She shook her head. "No one said anything like that. It's just that having babies is so dangerous. Sometimes for the mother, and sometimes for the baby. And sometimes for both."

Interesting that Anora hadn't phrased any of these things as questions. What was that all about? She seemed awfully young to be worrying about complications with pregnancy. Awfully young to have more than a rudimentary understanding of the whole thing in the first place.

Perhaps she _had_ heard about Melina, or perhaps some friend of hers or someone she knew in Gwaren had had a difficult childbirth. Even so, it seemed an excessive reaction for a young girl to have.

"All of that is true," Eleanor said carefully, "but even though childbirth can be dangerous, almost all of the time it isn't. Hundreds of healthy babies are born every year. Thousands, perhaps. And their mothers are fine. Fergus' birth was relatively easy for me, so I am confident that this child will come with equal ease." She paused. "I promise, you have no reason to be worried for me. I'm not scared, not in the slightest. Nor should you be."

The girl let out a slow breath. "All right." She turned her gaze on Eleanor's stomach. "Do you think you're going to have a boy or a girl?"

"A boy or a girl?" Eleanor slid her arm beneath her belly, gently supporting the weight of the child within. She leaned close again. "If you really want to know, I will tell you a secret. I'm certain I'm having a girl."

Anora's eyes grew slightly wider. "What do you mean? How can you be certain?"

"Well, of course I can't," Eleanor laughed. "Not really. But with Fergus, I always had the feeling he would be a boy. There was just something in my head, and in my heart, that told me he was going to be a boy, and that his name should be Fergus. And this time that same feeling is telling me I'm having a girl. So I choose to believe it." She shrugged. "Of course, I'll be equally pleased if I'm wrong. Another boy wouldn't be any sort of hardship. But I believe that this will be a girl, and I do enjoy the idea of having a daughter."

"Do you know what you're going to name her?"

"Yes. She'll be called Rhianna Elizabeth. After Bryce's grandmother and my mother."

"Rhianna." Anora spoke the name slowly, as though feeling it on her tongue. "That's a lovely name. What does it mean?"

Eleanor chuckled. "Well, that's a bit of a debate, really. There is a goddess called Rhiannon, who was worshipped by our Alamarri ancestors. Rhiannon was a goddess of the moon, and queen of the fairies, if you believe in such things, and she had a deep connection with horses. It's said that when she rode her white steed, she could outride anyone; no other horse was swift enough to catch her, even though she appeared never to move faster than an amble. And there's a story that the first time she met her husband, she was on horseback, and the sight of her was so entrancing he fell instantly in love. This is the version that Bryce prefers, and he swears that his grandmother was named after the goddess Rhiannon."

Anora nodded enthusiastically, clearly enraptured. "That's a good story. Do you think your daughter will like horses, if you name her that?"

"I think it's possible; Bryce's grandmother was exceptionally good with animals, from what I've heard."

"But what's the debate about? Is there another meaning?"

"Ah. Yes." She bit her tongue to keep from chuckling. "There is another meaning, one Bryce is not quite as fond of. In ancient Tevinter, Rhianna means 'nymph,' which is a female nature spirit."

"A nature spirit? What do nature spirits do?"

"Well . . . I suppose they spend most of their time running around in the forest dancing and singing."

"That sounds quite charming. Why doesn't the teyrn like it?"

Ah. Now this was a trick. There really wasn't any way to explain to an eight-year-old that nymphs are also associated with rampant sexuality, was there?

"I just think Bryce would prefer his child to be a bit more serious-minded, and not focused solely on dancing and singing."

Anora nodded, as though this made perfect sense.

"Anora is also a lovely name," Eleanor continued. "Is it a family name?"

The girl's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Anora is family name. My mother's grandmother was named Anora. I'm told that it means 'light and grace.'"

"Well, then it's the perfect name for you, isn't it?" Eleanor smiled. "As a matter of fact, my own name means 'light.' If you think about it, our names are very similar: Eleanor, and Anora? Practically the same name, isn't it?" Anora's smile grew even wider at this statement, and a light dawned in her eyes as though she'd never made the connection before. Almost certainly she hadn't; it was the first time Eleanor had noticed the similarity.

"And what about your middle name?" Eleanor asked.

"My middle name is Aoife, after my father's mother."

"That is one of my favorite names, ever," Eleanor said truthfully. "Such a beautiful name."

And such a tragic one, in the Mac Tir family history. Eleanor knew the story about how Loghain's mother had died, back before the rebellion. Assaulted and murdered by chevaliers. Surely Anora had no knowledge of that story, either, and wouldn't, at least for many years to come.

"I think so, too," she murmured. "I never knew my grandmother. She died before I was born. Both of them did." As had Loghain's father.

"And what about your mother's father? Is he still alive?"

"Yes, he lives in Gwaren. He's . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"He's what?"

She took a breath. "I was just going to say that he makes cabinets, and other things out of wood." The tension had returned to her shoulders, and she said it with an edge to her voice, as if she expected to be challenged.

"And I expect he's very good at it," Eleanor said gently, careful not to make light of her defensiveness. "What sort of other things does he make?"

Anora clearly hadn't expected her to take an interest. "All sorts of things," she said slowly. "Furniture. Houses. He helped rebuild Gwaren after it burned down in the war. But I think he likes making toys the best."

Helped rebuild Gwaren? "I believe I've met your grandfather, come to think of it. During the Occupation. What is his name? Saer?"

"Yes!" Anora blinked in surprise. "That's him."

"I remember him well. He worked harder than anyone to rebuild the town."

"Did he?"

"Yes, he did."

A new sort of smile appeared on the girl's face; if Eleanor had to guess, Anora looked . . . proud. Anger flared in Eleanor's chest at the cruel words the girls had thrown, as if Anora should be anything but proud of her family.

"May I give you a bit of advice?"

"Of course," Anora said. "Advice about what?"

"Don't let people intimidate you. Especially not those older girls."

Her nose wrinkled and she glanced away. "What do you mean?"

"When they say awful things, girls like Morag and Alvira. Just, try not to let them intimidate you, and you should definitely not take anything they say to heart. They think it matters that their families have been part of the nobility for a very long time. That it makes them more worthy, or gives them some knowledge that someone from a different sort of family doesn't have. But this simply isn't true. They are not worthier, or more talented, or more graceful than you, or you mother. They're just jealous, and feel threatened, and that's why they're so horrible."

"But why would anyone feel threatened by me?" A gentle frown appeared on her brow, a tiny crease above her nose.

"Because you're going to be be the queen someday. You are betrothed to Cailan, and everyone knows that. And most of them probably wish they were the ones betrothed to Cailan, or perhaps they've been told by their parents that they _ought_ to be the one betrothed to Cailan. And it rankles that a girl whose father was not born into the nobility will end up on the throne." She paused. "Not everyone feels this way. But enough of them do that there's no incentive for them not to be nasty about it, and quite vocally so."

"But what am I supposed to do? I don't care so much when they say bad things about me, but when they say things about my mother? It makes me so angry, but I don't know what to say to make them stop."

"The best way to make them stop is to convince them that you are not bothered by their petty, awful comments. Just remember that you know who you are, and it has nothing to do with what your grandparents did for a living, and that there was nothing at all wrong with what your grandparents did for a living. If they see that their words no longer hurt you, perhaps they'll give up."

"But why do they do it?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't understand why anyone would be so horrible to another person."

Eleanor let out a breath. That was an excellent question. The truth was that all of these children were too young to remember the Occupation. They had no way of knowing real fear, real hunger. To genuinely not know what the future would bring. What it was like to starve, or to tend to wounds without the proper supplies or people to heal them. People who fought together were able to see one another's mettle in a way that was perhaps difficult to come by in times of peace. But she could hardly try and explain that to the child.

"I wish I knew," she replied. "Perhaps it's just human nature? But I do know how awful it feels to have people say such things about you, or the people you love. And I learned, over time, not to let it bother me."

"You know that? I can't imagine anyone saying those things about you."

"They did, though." Eleanor bit back a smile. "Do you want to know the truth about my family?"

"Alright."

"My father wasn't a nobleman, either. Once upon a time, my family was part of the nobility in Ferelden, but the Drydens were shamed two hundred years ago when my ancestress Sophia tried to take the throne from King Arland. Now, nobody remembers that he was a despot, and probably quite mad and tyrannical. All they remember is that the Drydens lost, miserably so, and were stripped of all titles and land. So I didn't grow up in a castle or a palace. I grew up in a small house in Amaranthine. I milked the cows every morning, and I sold the excess milk and eggs in the market to make ends meet. My father was a merchant, so a lot of times he was away from home for long periods. I'm not trying to complain; I always had a bed to sleep in, and nice clothes to wear, and I was warm and fed and loved. But because of the way I was raised, there are some people here in Denerim who think I don't deserve to be teyrna of Highever."

"But that's ridiculous!" Anora's voice held a vehemence Eleanor had not heard before. "You . . . you're the most gracious woman I've ever known. Even more gracious than my mother." Anora gave a small gasp, and her cheeks grew pink. "Although my mother is very gracious. Everyone in Gwaren says so."

"Everyone in Gwaren is right about that," Eleanor agreed. "Your mother is indeed very gracious, I remember thinking just that the first time I met her. And that she was a very good counterpart for your father." She paused. "And, from what I've seen so far, you are growing up to be just like her in that regard."

Anora blinked, and blushed again. "Th-thank you, teyrna. That's . . . that's very kind of you to say." She averted her gaze, and chewed at her bottom lip.

Perhaps it was time to move to a somewhat lighter topic of conversation.

"You mentioned that your mother's roses are even prettier than these?"

"Yes." She paused. "Was it rude of me to say that?"

"Not at all. Although you should probably refrain from saying it in front of the palace groundskeeper." Eleanor winked, and Anora giggled.

"My mother told me that the secret to roses is what you feed them. She says a lot of people don't realize they need special care. A lot of flowers, you can just put them in the ground and they don't care much what you do afterwards. They'll grow just fine. And roses will, too. Grow just fine, but they won't ever show you their full beauty unless you pamper them, just little bit."

"Is that so? And just how does your mother pamper her roses?"

"She gives them each a fish wrapped in a piece of seaweed that washed up on the beach. She buries it right above their roots, once a month, all through the summer. She says to start when the bushes begin to grow after being dormant through the winter, and then feed them through Solace, or until the weather turns cold if that happens sooner."

"And what effect does this have?"

"It makes the colors brighter, and the petals softer, and the blossoms even more fragrant. My mother's roses are the prettiest I've ever seen, anywhere."

"Perhaps I shall have to give this a try."

"You should. And then, next time we see one another, you can tell me how it worked." Her brow furrowed. "Of course, you'll probably be busy with the baby."

"Well, perhaps she'll enjoy some time out in the sunshine, while I work in the garden?"

"I expect she would like that a lot. I've always loved being in the garden with my mother." She gave another shy smile. "And I've enjoyed walking out here with you, today, as well."

"I've enjoyed it, too, my dear. Very much."

‹›‹O›‹›


	2. Not an easy thing to tell

_**1 Firstfall, 9:17 Dragon  
**__**Denerim Palace**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

"It's the most _gorgeous _shade of blue," Marah Curwen said loudly, "like sapphires from Alamar, and there will be a row of seed pearls stitched around the neckline."

Eleanor nodded absently as the wife of the Bann of Drakon River continued to describe a gown she was having made by one of the dressmakers here in the city. The gown sounded lovely, truly, but to be honest Eleanor didn't have a lot of interest in this type of small talk; she was pleasantly full after another splendid banquet hosted by King Maric, and in excellent spirits from the wine she'd consumed with her meal, and the subtle politics of noble fashion seemed a bit too tiresome just now. However, as Marah appeared to have the rapt attention of Lady Landra, Bann Nicola, and Ranulf Eremon, Eleanor didn't feel too guilty about allowing her mind to wander.

Usually, the Couslands spent Satinalia in Highever, and in truth, Eleanor had not been in the mood for traveling, but Bryce had been adamant about coming to the city for the holiday this year. He was convinced that Fergus and Rhianna needed a chance to spend some time with other children their own age. Fergus did have friends in the village, but five-year-old Rhianna was too young to go out on her own yet, and there were no children her age living in the castle. As a result, she spent most of her time in the gardens, poking around the hedges in search of squirrels and rabbits, and Bryce was afraid she spent too much of her time alone. So, when the weather turned mild and the snows melted a few weeks before the holiday, he'd insisted they make the journey to Denerim.

Despite her initial reservations, Eleanor didn't regret the decision. It was good to see friends, and the children appeared to be enjoying themselves, as well. Fergus had joined forces with Nathaniel Howe and a couple of other teens - Alfstanna Eremon and Nicola Baranti's grandson, Adric - and they were playing some sort of game with cards. Rhianna had wandered out onto the grass to play Knights and Chevaliers with the younger children.

She let her gaze drift around the courtyard, and noticed someone sitting alone, under an arbor near the palace walls. A young woman with blonde hair and pale skin. She appeared to be reading a book, her posture straight and proper.

Anora Mac Tir.

From here, she looked older than her fourteen years. Perhaps because she had pulled her hair up, but in truth, Anora had always had something of a mature air about her. No surprise that she would grow up relatively quickly; a lot of responsibility was in her future, and she was well aware of it.

Now Landra had taken over the conversation and was telling a story Eleanor had heard before - something mildly amusing about her young son, Dairren, going around the room at one of her salons, and taking sips from everyone's drinks. Her words were only slightly slurred, but it was obvious - at least to Eleanor - that Landra had, as usual, consumed more wine with dinner than was seemly.

Fortunately, it seemed that Landra's tale was to be interrupted, when Tanith Curwen - a girl about the same age as Rhianna - came running over to her mother.

"Mummy! Mummy! You'll never guess what happened!"

"Tanith, darling," Marah soothed, "calm down and find your manners, please. You've just interrupted Lady Landra in the middle of telling a story."

Tanith blinked, turned to Landra, and made a somewhat awkward curtsey. "Begging your pardon, my lady. I am sorry to have interrupted." She said it in a sing song voice, as if she had learned it by repetition in an etiquette lesson.

"It's all right, darling," Landra said kindly. "Go ahead and tell your mother whatever it is that's got you so excited."

Tanith turned back to her mother, near to vibrating with excitement. "Thomas Howe's nose got _broken!_ He was bleeding and _everything!_"

Instantly, the girl had everyone's attention.

"What's this?" The calm was gone from Marah's voice. "Start at the beginning, and tell us what happened."

"We were playing Knights and Chevaliers, and Habren and Thomas didn't want to let Rhianna Cousland play. They got into a fight, and Thomas pushed Rhianna down." What in the world? Eleanor sat up straight as Tanith continued, "Then Rhianna got up again, and punched Thomas right in the nose. There was blood _everywhere_. It was _amazing!_"

"_Rhianna_ hit Thomas?" Eleanor pushed herself up out of her seat. "Maker's breath. I suppose I ought to go find out exactly what happened." To be honest, Eleanor was more concerned about the part where Thomas pushed Rhianna to the ground, but if she'd been able to get back up and punch the boy, she couldn't have been badly harmed. "If you'll excuse me."

She began to cross the courtyard to where she'd last seen Rhianna, but the game of Knights and Chevaliers seemed to have ended, and Rhianna was nowhere to be seen. A tiny spark of panic burst into life in Eleanor's chest as her eyes searched for her daughter. She soon spotted her, though - across the courtyard, with Maric and Loghain and Cailan. Bryce was there as well, as was Rendon Howe. Eleanor headed toward them, but as she approached she could see that Howe didn't look happy.

Eleanor halted her steps. Perhaps it would be best not to interfere. If Rhianna really had broken Thomas' nose, Rendon was likely to be very upset. It really might be best for Eleanor to let Bryce handle things; no need for her to come and make an already stressful situation even more so.

Certainly, Rhianna looked none the worse for wear from where she stood at Loghain's side. She was looking up at her father, who held something small in his hand. Then, Rhianna glanced up at Loghain, and said something that seemed to make everyone laugh.

Oh, thank the Maker. If they were laughing about something, perhaps little Tanith had been mistaken about what had happened, or had exaggerated the extent of the damage as young children were so wont to do. Either way, Bryce was there, so Eleanor's involvement wasn't necessary. Rhianna was fine, and Eleanor felt her shoulders unwind in relief.

Yes. She would let Bryce handle this one.

She glanced back to where she had sat just a minute before. Tanith had settled herself on Marah's lap, and Landra appeared to be mid-story once again. Perhaps this was just the opportunity she needed to avoid listening to the story for the umpteenth time. With a slight twinge of something - not quite guilt, but almost a sort of glee at getting away with something naughty - she changed course, and continued across the courtyard to where Anora sat with her book.

The young woman looked up at Eleanor's approach, a slight frown upon her face. But when she recognized the teyrna, her brow smoothed, and she burst into a wide smile. "Teyrna Eleanor! Hello! I missed you during supper."

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Of course not." She gestured to the bench. "Please, have a seat." She glanced down and placed a bookmark between the pages, then she closed the book and set it on the bench at her side. While she did this, Eleanor made herself comfortable and discreetly studied the girl's profile; she was surprised to realize that Anora had done her hair in an almost identical style to Eleanor's own: a braid on either side, rolled up and pinned into place at the top of her neck. Was that deliberate? Eleanor fought back a small smile, not wanting to make the girl self-conscious if it was.

"What is that you're reading?"

Anora glanced at the book. "Oh, it's just about the Rebellion."

"A history book?"

"Yes." She rolled her eyes. "I know, it's a bit strange. That's what everyone says, anyway. Well, except my father - he doesn't mind that I like to read history books. I just find them so much more interesting than other books. What point is there in stories if they didn't really happen?"

Eleanor chuckled. "I don't think it's strange. I'd never really thought about it before. Stories being more interesting if they're true." She smiled. "Of course, you have a source of your own for true stories of the Rebellion. I'm sure your father has some amazing stories to tell."

"My father doesn't tell stories." Anora wrinkled her nose. "At least not _those _kinds of stories."

"Really? Haven't you ever asked him about the Rebellion? Rhianna asks for nothing but stories about the Rebellion, even at bedtime."

"No. It always seemed . . ." Anora twisted her fingers together, an almost nervous gesture. "Well, I've always got the feeling he doesn't like to talk about it, and I don't want to remind him of of all the bad things that happened. So I've never asked."

Eleanor's smile gentled. "I expect there are at least a few stories he wouldn't mind telling, though."

"You fought in the Rebellion, didn't you? You must have stories of your own as well."

"Yes, I did fight. And, I suppose I do have stories." She paused.

Anora glanced at her book again, then at back at Eleanor. "What was it like?"

"The Rebellion?"

"Yes. Living through it, I mean. Living through a war."

How to answer a question like that? Before Eleanor could think of a reply, Anora hurried to add, "Unless you would rather not talk about it?"

"No," Eleanor said slowly. "I don't mind talking about it. I just . . . well, it's hard to know where to start." She took a deep breath. "I joined the Rebellion not long after Harper's Ford. You're aware of what happened there?"

Anora nodded knowledgeably. "The Couslands took the town back from Arl Tarleton Howe, who had allied himself with Orlais."

"Exactly. Not long after that, Maric and the rebels spent several weeks camped near Amaranthine. In a rather surprising turn of events, Tarleton's brother - the new arl, Byron Howe - decided to join the Rebellion. Or perhaps it wasn't really that surprising; Byron wasn't much like his brother, truth be told. Anyway, when the rebels had to leave the Coastlands for fear of Meghren's forces, I left home and joined them."

"By yourself? How old were you?"

Eleanor smiled at the horrified fascination in the girl's tone. "I was sixteen - not much older than you are now - and no, I didn't go by myself. I was with Bryce and his brother, and Rendon Howe. Of course, at that time I'd only known Bryce and Hal for a few days, and Bryce and I certainly weren't romantically involved yet. But I knew it was the right thing to do, to fight for Ferelden."

Anora tilted her head to one side. "Bryce has a brother? I didn't know that."

It still hurt, even after all this time. "He _had_ a brother," Eleanor replied sadly. "Hal . . . Hal died at White River."

"Oh." A soft frown appeared on Anora's face. "I had no idea."

"I wouldn't have expected you to know. Bryce doesn't talk about his brother very often. None of us do. Even after so long, it's still a bit . . . raw."

That it was. Even now, grief began to bubble up in side of her as Hal's smiling face appeared in her memory.

"Hal was a wonderful man," Eleanor continued, straightening her shoulders as if she could shake off the grief so easily. "Kind, and funny. He's still very much missed." She let out a breath. "Anyway, the four of us ran off together to join the Rebellion, and for the next five years, that became our lives."

She shook her head, lost in the memories. "But you asked what it was like, the Rebellion and the war and whatnot." Another deep breath. "To be honest, most of the time it was boring. Dreadfully so. The word '_war_' conjures up visions of fighting. The clash of swords, and arrows flying through the air, and a chaos of shouting and blood. And of course, there were times it was like that, but fighting was the least of what we did. The vast majority of our time was spent trudging from one place to another, or sitting around in rough camps, trying to stay warm and keep from starving to death."

Eleanor sighed. "After a while, I almost forgot what it had been like to live in a house. To have a full belly, and not be dirty all the time, covered in mosquito bites and crawling with lice. But yes, most of the time it was boring. Except when it wasn't - when the Orlesians managed to find where we'd been camped. Then, for those few hours, there was a terror unlike anything I could have ever imagined. But most of the time, we were just trying to figure out some way to survive."

Anora had been listening silently, her expression one of almost enraptured awe. "It sounds awful. I mean, that's silly, isn't it? Of course it was awful. It was a war. But somehow I would have thought there was always activity, some sort of action."

"That's what I would have thought, as well. But it wasn't like that at all. And it _was _awful, but I do have good memories of those times, as well. Looking back on it now, it almost feels as though there was more pleasure than there was pain." She gave a humorless chuckle. "That, no doubt, is a result of my own selective memory. Not that I've forgotten the worst things, but I think that I have managed to block out most of the more trivial things, the small day-to-day horrors that filled our lives.

"Even so, there genuinely were moments of pleasure. I saw parts of Ferelden I would never have seen otherwise. Beautiful places. I've stood on the cliffs in Gwaren and looked out over the sea. I listened to the crash of water below the falls along the River Dane. I bathed in Lake Calenhad. I watched the sun rise over the Frostback Mountains, while the mist hung in the air and made all the colors look soft and perfect. Heard the hum of crickets and frogs in the middle of the night. No sound was more comforting; we knew that as long as they were singing, no one was nearby, trying to sneak up on us. And to this day, nothing will ever taste as delicious as a fresh apple did back then. The sweetness, the slightly sharp tang, after not having fresh fruit for weeks and weeks and weeks."

Ah, it was all coming back to her now, as if it'd only been yesterday. "And of course, it was during the war that Bryce and I fell in love." She smiled fondly, glancing across the courtyard towards her husband. "There are a whole parcel of moments with him that I will always cherish. And I suppose I don't regret what it did for me. What it did _to_ me. I was shaped by having run away from home when I was sixteen years old, and joining a fight for something bigger than myself. That is something to be proud of."

Anora studied Eleanor's face, through slightly narrowed eyes. She chewed at her bottom lip, and then took a breath. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"It's . . . well, I suppose the thing I most want to know . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"What is it, dear? You can ask me anything. I don't mind."

"All right. What was the most frightening thing that happened? During the war?"

It wasn't the sort of question she'd expected from her. "The most frightening?"

Anora's shoulders slumped. "That's a stupid question, isn't it? There were probably so many things. Too many to even count."

"True enough. Fear was a constant companion during those years. However," Eleanor gave a soft chuckle, "I can answer your question. I know exactly which moment was the scariest for me. It happened in Gwaren, the very first time the Rebel Army traveled there." She took a deep breath while she collected her thoughts.

"For two years, we had done little but keep running to stay ahead of the Orlesians. Our numbers were growing - the more despotic Meghren became, the more people turned to Maric hoping he would lead Ferelden into a brighter future - but mostly, we struggled to keep ourselves fed, and it felt like we accomplished little more than that. Finally, Maric decided it was time to take some more decisive action, and he set his sights on Gwaren. Arl Byron took his own men west, toward the Southron Hills, hoping to lead the Orlesians astray while the rest of us continued on to the city."

Anora remained silent, chewing on her lower lip as if overcome with nerves by the story itself.

"It worked," Eleanor continued. "Arl Byron and most of his men were killed by an Orlesian force much larger than we could have expected, but we did manage to take Gwaren with relative ease. Of course, the people of Gwaren didn't thank us. They were at least as terrified of us as they were of their Orlesian teyrn, but we had taken the city. Unfortunately, we learned soon afterwards that the Orlesian forces were less than a day away. It seemed unlikely we would have enough strength to fight them back in any sort of open combat. We were wounded, and exhausted, and had no time to rest. So, your father came up with a plan to trick them into thinking the Rebel army had left Gwaren, just long enough press the advantage and drive the chevaliers back before they realized what was happening.

"I've read of his plan in my book," Anora murmured, "but the author didn't make it sound nearly so terrifying."

"It's not precisely a pleasant memory," Eleanor said in agreement. "When the Orlesians rode into town, the entirety of the Rebel army was hidden, waiting until as many of the chevaliers as possible had made their way into the town. Only four of us remained out in the open: myself, Rowan, and two people from the village who had begged to be able to help. We dressed in rags, blood stained and torn, and we waited in the town square. None of us carried a weapon."

Anora had gone remarkably still, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as she held her breath in anticipation.

"When their commander - along with one of his mages - entered the square, the four of us ran out into the courtyard as if we were terrified of the Rebels. We threw ourselves at their feet, and begged for mercy. Rowan told them that the Rebel army had left, borne away by ships that flew Antivan flags. The commander looked down at her from horseback, and then he reached up to pull off his helm -"

Anora gasped.

" - and that was the moment when I was most afraid," Eleanor said, a shiver running down her spine at the memory. "Crouched at the feet of an Orlesian commander, without a weapon in my hand, in a village halfway across Ferelden from my home. That was the moment when I realized I might have made a grave mistake in volunteering for this mission."

"Was that the first time you'd feared for your life?"

"No," Eleanor murmured. "Far from it. And the reason for my fear wasn't as straight forward as you'd imagine."

A crease formed along Anora's brow. "Then what were you afraid of?"

Eleanor paused, still haunted by that moment of terror even decades later. "Growing up in Amaranthine, I had made an effort to get to know some of the chevaliers stationed in the city. It seemed the prudent thing to do. I was a young woman, living alone much of the time when my father traveled for his business. I would've been a perfect target for their . . . _attentions_."

Anora shuddered, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"So," Eleanor continued, "to keep myself safe, I befriended their garrison commander. He was an older man, a decent man. I always got the feeling that I reminded him of someone back home; a daughter, perhaps." She paused. "And there, in Gwaren, in that moment when the commander reached for his helm, I was filled with a certainty that this was someone I had known in Amaranthine. Someone who would recognize me, and know they had walked into a trap."

Anora's fingers clutched at the fabric of her skirt. "What happened? When he showed his face - was it someone you knew?"

"No."

Anora quite visibly slumped in relief, and Eleanor chuckled softly.

"No," she continued. "It wasn't anyone I knew. We found out later that these soldiers had only recently arrived from Orlais, although I had no way of knowing that at the time. And we did manage to hold Gwaren; our ruse, and Rowan's story about the boats, distracted them into letting down their guard, and we were able to hold the city. It was one of the first real victories for the Rebels. Certainly the first important victory that I had any hand in."

"I'm surprised, I guess," Anora said. "That this was the moment you remember as the most frightening. From all the tales, I would have expected the worst things to have happened during the Battle of White River."

"Yes," Eleanor said slowly, "I can see what you might think that. White River was the lowest point for so many of us during the Rebellion. Myself included. But it wasn't the same kind of fear. At White River, we had no reason to think things would go badly, until they did. So there wasn't time to be afraid, only time to be horrified as everything fell apart. So White River was far more horrible, but Gwaren was more frightening, at least for me. When it flashed through my mind just how horribly wrong things could go if this was a man who knew me, I knew that if it turned into a disaster, it would all have been my fault. Anyone who died, their blood would have been on my hands."

Eleanor let the story draw to a close. She wasn't really sure what more there was to say after such an ominous remembrance.

After a moment's heavy silence, Anora cleared her throat. "Thank you," she murmured. "For telling me all of that." She glanced down at her lap, and unclenched her fingers. "It really is different, hearing the story from your lips. I've read about the the taking of Gwaren, in my books. I knew about the trap you set, and the things that happened. But it's not the same. It's so much more . . . _real_, hearing it from someone who was there."

She paused. "Only now, I can't decide if this makes me want to ask my father for his stories, or if makes me think I should never, ever ask. Because I get the feeling that was not an easy thing for you to tell."

Eleanor studied Anora's face. The girl really was remarkably insightful for someone so young.

‹›‹O›‹›


	3. Since your mother isn't here

_**6 Firstfall, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Gwaren Estate, Denerim**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

Anora sat at the desk in her bedroom, her hand poised over a blank piece of parchment. She'd intended to begin a letter to Empress Celene, who had written to congratulate her on her upcoming nuptials, but somehow, the words wouldn't flow. Anora was too restless. She put the quill away, pushed herself up from the chair, and glanced around the room, searching for the right distraction to set her mind at ease, but there was little succor to be found in the all but empty room.

The bookshelves were bare; most of her books had been packed up and taken to the palace already, along with her clothing and the rest of her belongings. In the corner, the sapphire blue gown she would wear tomorrow hung on a mannequin. It really was the most beautiful gown she had ever seen, and yet the sight of it did not fill her with the peace she sought. She crossed the room, and ran her fingers across the smooth satin, absently tracing her fingers along the sleeve.

When she turned away from the dress, her breath caught in her throat, a slight hitch that wasn't really a sob but was certainly an uncomfortable tightness that wanted to be something more. _This room_. This had been her room for as long as she could remember, and tonight was the last night she would ever spend in it. The last night she would sleep alone in her bed. The last time she would sit at this desk to write a letter. None of her furniture was coming with her; her rooms in the palace were already furnished, and somewhat more luxuriously.

Something bloomed in her chest, not for the first time, but it was more urgent now that it had been before.

Fear?

No, that wasn't right, not fear. She wasn't frightened. Not quite that. Just . . . uncertain. Perhaps the slightest bit anxious. Of course she was happy to be marrying Cailan on the morrow. She had been in love with him for years, and knew he loved her as well. She wished it weren't happening now, for the reason it was happening; Maric's disappearance had torn a piece out of her heart. She had loved him nearly as much as she loved her own father. Still, she was happy to be marrying such a man as Cailan, a man she would quite happily spend the rest of her life with.

So why was she afraid?

Maker, but fear just wasn't the right word. It was an uneasiness, but to call it fear was hopelessly overdramatic.

Was it just that things were going to change? That was foolish. Of course things were going to change, but surely it would be for the better. And it's not as though she was leaving anything behind, other than this bedroom. She would still see her father, probably every day. And now, she'd be with Cailan. Surely, she would be even happier at the palace than she had been living here in the Gwaren estate. She could make a difference, and that in itself was a glorious thing indeed.

"Lady Anora?" She started at Uthalas' voice from the doorway, and the elven footman bowed his head. "Apologies for disturbing you, my Lady. You have a visitor."

A visitor? It was rather late for someone to arrive to see her, especially tonight of all nights.

She nodded in return, accepting his apology. "Who is it?"

"Teyrna Eleanor Cousland has asked to see you," he replied.

"Eleanor is here?" A faint smile crept across Anora's lips; she was always pleased to see the Teyrna of Highever, even if the hour was late. "Please show her into the library; I'll be down presently."

Uthalas nodded again, heels snapping sharply together before he turned and headed back down the hallway. Anora looked down at herself, assessing her outfit with a critical eye - she was wearing her nightgown, but she could easily pull a wrap around her shoulders and pass the basic requirements of courtesy that a quick visit demanded.

She snatched up a shawl from the bedclothes and stopped before the mirror to pat her hair into place, settling the wrap around her before heading for the door.

When Anora entered the library, Eleanor stood, and the two women met in the middle of the room in an embrace.

"I wasn't expecting any visitors this evening," Anora said, pulling back at an arm's length to smile fondly at the older woman. "So this is a pleasant surprise."

Eleanor returned the smile. "I'm glad you think so. I know it's a bit late to be visiting, but I wanted to stop by and see how you're faring this evening."

"I appreciate that," Anora said truthfully.

She offered Eleanor a glass of port, and the two women settled themselves on the sofa by the fire. Someone had clearly made a hasty effort to stoke the embers back to life, and the flames were beginning to creep along the new pieces of wood in the grate.

"So," Eleanor began, "are you ready for tomorrow?"

"Yes." Anora gave the brightest smile she could muster. "Everything is packed, and my gown is waiting for me to put it on in the morning. I don't think there's anything I've forgotten - and if I have, it's not like it'll be difficult to make arrangements."

"Good." Eleanor paused. "And are you excited? About the wedding, and everything?"

"I . . . am, I suppose. I mean, of course I _am _excited, truly," she amended quickly. "But . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"But it's rather daunting, isn't it?" Eleanor smiled warmly. "This whole business of marriage."

"Yes. It is." Anora felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Eleanor had put it into words just perfectly. "I know I shouldn't be worried. I've known Cailan my whole life, and I've spent my whole life waiting for this day to come. I'm happy, I truly am."

"But?" With a gentle smile on her lips, Eleanor caught and held Anora's gaze.

Anora let out a breath. "But at the same time, it feels like everything is changing, and . . . well . . . I just didn't expect that."

"I know it feels like that right now, but not everything will change," Eleanor reassured. "Some things will, of course. You're going to have new responsibilities, as will he, and you're both going to be busier as a result than you ever have before. Your time won't be your own as it once was. That will take a bit of getting used to. But once the wedding is over, and you've moved into the palace, I think you'll find that you settle into your new life with very little trouble at all."

"I am expecting to be busier." She bit her bottom lip. "To be honest, I welcome it, in a way. I mean, I've spent my whole life preparing for this. I'm eager to get down to business of it."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." Eleanor smiled. "And you will be a marvelous queen. I have no doubt of that." She paused. "Of course, there are a few other things that might change. Perhaps there will be things in your personal life, as well?"

Anora tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Have you and Cailan been together yet? Intimately?"

"_Oh_." A flush of color stained Anora's cheeks, and she averted her gaze. "I . . . oh. Um . . ."

Eleanor reached over and put a gentle hand on Anora's arm. "It's all right if you don't talk about it, dear. I just thought, that since your mother isn't here with you, I would ask. Perhaps it's moot, and you and Cailan crossed that bridge some time ago? But either way, I don't expect this is the sort of conversation you would prefer to have with your father."

"Maker, no!" Anora blurted out, laughing nervously. "This is definitely not a discussion I want to have with my father." Her smile slipped away. "To answer your question, no. Cailan and I haven't . . . crossed that bridge. I mean, we've done some things, of course. We've kissed, and . . . touched one another, in various ways." She let out a breath. "Cailan wanted to do more. For quite some time now, he's wanted to do more, but I've always told him no. I wasn't ready." She bit her bottom lip. "I still don't feel ready, even now. That sounds foolish, doesn't it? I'm a grown woman, and I do love him. This shouldn't be a challenge for me, should it?"

Eleanor leaned closer, and held Anora's gaze. "There's nothing foolish about it, darling," she said, her tone completely serious. "Nothing foolish at all. Whatever you're feeling right now is fine, and completely appropriate. Making love for the first time is a big step - for you, and in your relationship with Cailan. It's perfectly fine not to feel ready." She paused. "Having said that, I also want to suggest that it's not anything to be worried about, or frightened. Not excessively so. I think you'll find that once you've gotten through the initial surprise of it, being with someone that way can be wonderful. And Cailan strikes me as the sort of man who will take the time to make sure you enjoy yourself as much as he does, assuming he's able to figure out what that means."

"To be honest, _I'm_ not even sure what you mean."

"Oh." Eleanor lifted a brow. "Have you never touched yourself? There?"

Again, Anora felt her cheeks grow warm. This was the last thing Anora would have expected. To have a conversation about . . . _sex _with the teyrna of Highever.

"Oh, that."

As a child, Anora had never been one to explore her own body. She hadn't thought much about it, to be honest. As long as she could run fast, and climb trees, and shoot arrows on target, that was all she really required. But when she got older, and she and Cailan had snuck away to be alone together, it was obvious that when she touched him, he enjoyed it immensely. And sometimes he touched her in ways that did awaken other feelings. Warmth, and yearning, deep inside of her. But nothing he'd ever done had been entirely . . . satisfactory. So, on nights when she was alone in her bed, very late, after she was certain the rest of the household was asleep, she had touched herself, and discovered that it did, indeed, feel marvelous.

"Well, y-es. Yes, I have," Anora stuttered.

"Then you know how that feels. All you need to do is make sure Cailan understands how to make you feel that way. It might not be obvious to him right away. He's young, so it's very likely he's going to put himself inside of you and assume that, as long as what he's doing makes him feel good, that you feel good as well. And chances are that's not going to be the case. These things are easier for men, in general."

Yes, even Anora's own limited experience told her that was true.

"Not that it will feel bad," Eleanor continued. "Intercourse by itself can be lovely. But that's not all there is to making love. You deserve to have as much pleasure as you want to have. And you need to make sure he helps you find your pleasure, as well as his own. Almost certainly, Cailan will require some guidance. From you."

"Guidance?" That was an alarming thought. "What sort of guidance?"

"You'll need to tell him what you want him to do. What feels good, and what doesn't. Most important, don't ever pretend something feels good if it doesn't." She paused. "Cailan is a prince, and to be honest, he was raised to believe the whole world revolves around him, and he's had women fawning over him his whole life. He very likely believes himself to be the Maker's gift to women. But you are not just any woman. You will be his queen, and more importantly, his wife. So you need to make it clear to him that you will accept nothing less than an equal role in all things. In the Landsmeet chamber, and in the bedchamber. Whatever you do, do not let him believe he's made you feel good if he hasn't. King or not, he needs to know when he's failed at something, so he can do better the next time. Or, better still, keep trying until he gets it right."

Anora thought back to the times she and Cailan had spent time together, alone. Yes, it was easy to see what Eleanor meant. No doubt, Cailan's intentions were good, but he always seemed to give up once he himself was satisfied.

"But how do I do that? How do I tell him? It's very difficult to imagine putting those things into words."

Eleanor reached out to place her palm over one of Anora's hands. "You don't have to do it with words, if that makes you nervous. Instead, you can just show him what you want. Put his hands where you want him to touch you. And his mouth."

His mouth?

"Above all else," Eleanor continued, "try not to worry about things. A great deal of this will come naturally, and the two of you will have plenty of time to figure out how to make one another happy. I just wanted to urge you to make sure Cailan makes the effort. Sometimes men don't know they need to do something different, unless we tell them." She paused. "Do you love him?"

"I do."

"And he loves you?"

"Yes." Anora had no difficulty saying that. She believed it with all her heart.

"Then that's really all that matters. You'll be able to work through whatever comes, as long as you remember that you love one another." Eleanor took a sip of her port, and let out a breath. "Rhianna is so excited about tomorrow. I don't think I've ever seen her take such an interest in a social event. She keeps talking about the dress, and how marvelous everything is going to be. I can't tell how much it means to her - and to me - that you asked her to stand with you tomorrow."

"Of course. There was never even one other person I considered asking." Anora smiled. "And I hope she's right. I hope it will be marvelous."

As she spoke those words, Anora realized that some of her earlier disquiet had eased.

She did believe it was all going to be marvelous.

‹›‹O›‹›


	4. I want you to make me a promise

_**4 August, 9:28 Dragon  
**__**Denerim Palace**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

Bann Nicola Baranti's ball was always _the_ event of the season. Every year, during the week of the Landsmeet, the bann of Northmuir held a grand ball in her Denerim estate, and the nobles of Ferelden - those fortunate enough to be invited, at least - came out in their finest clothes and most elaborate hairstyles. Not only was Nicola's estate easily the finest in Denerim - with it's marble steps and glittering tapestries - but she always had excellent musicians, and a spread of food that would be talked about until the following year's ball.

Bryce and Eleanor were in attendance, as usual, along with Fergus and Oriana. Rhianna, however, had opted to stay at home with little Oren. Eleanor had been surprised by her daughter's decision; this was the first year Rhianna had been old enough to be invited to the ball, and Eleanor would have thought the girl would be excited to be included. But she mumbled something about having attended too many salons in recent days, and then suggested that if she stayed home with Oren, Oriana would be free to attend the ball. Of course, Oriana would have come either way; Oren was perfectly happy to stay at home with the servants. But Eleanor hadn't tried to persuade her daughter. It sounded as though Rhianna'd had enough of society for the moment. Perhaps in a year or two she'd be more interested in dancing and socializing - particularly with members of the opposite sex - but for now, Eleanor decided not to insist.

A round of dancing had just ended, and Eleanor spotted Anora and Cailan. Anora dropped her husband's hand as soon as they left the dance floor. When Cailan stepped away to speak with Fergus and Oriana, Eleanor approached Anora.

"Good evening, Your Majesty."

A smile brightened the queen's face, but it didn't quite reach all the way to her eyes. "Good evening, Teyrna Eleanor. It's good to see you."

Eleanor gestured towards the terrace. "Shall we walk out in the garden for a few minutes? I wouldn't mind finding a breeze after dancing."

"Yes, that would be lovely." Anora' tone was pleasantly civil, but her eyes showed her gratitude.

Walking together in gardens had become a habit over the years. It gave the two women a chance to catch up on one another's lives in relative privacy, especially now that they only saw each other once or twice a year. Usually, these were cheerful conversations, filled with gossip and amusing stories of the past months. Tonight, the garden was lit with torches that flickered merrily in the darkness, while Eleanor and Anora headed in the direction of Nicola's rose garden.

"I must admit," Anora began, "that it's good to get out of the ballroom, and away from other people. For a few minutes at least."

There was a strain in Anora's tone that caught Eleanor's attention, and her heart ached in sympathy for the young woman. Clearly something was weighing on her, but Eleanor didn't want to pry. Surely, Anora would open up to her in her own time.

The two women walked in silence for a few minutes, and Eleanor led the way to an arbor, where they sat upon a bench. No one else had wandered this far from the estate, and they had the rose garden entirely to themselves.

When Anora remained silent, Eleanor turned to the younger woman. "Anora. Is everything alright?"

"Of course." Anora gave a brittle smile. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"You just seem a bit . . . subdued. That's all. I don't mean to pry."

"I'm sorry." Anora let out a breath. "I I don't mind you asking. It's just . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"It's just what?" Eleanor paused. "If something is bothering you, you can tell me. I hope you know that."

Anora sighed. "Of course. I do know that. I truly do. It's just this is . . ." She laughed humorlessly. "This is difficult to talk about."

"It is something with Cailan? Are the two of you having problems?"

"_Hah_." Another smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You could say so, yes. Things are not as I'd hoped they would be with Cailan. Although the thing that's upsetting me tonight . . . well, it isn't exactly related to any of that. It's just that I've . . ." She sighed. "This month, my cycle was a bit late and I had hoped . . ." She shook her head. "But I was wrong. I started bleeding this morning."

Eleanor's heart broke for her. "You thought you had conceived a child."

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry." Eleanor reached out and put her hand over Anora's. "I know how disappointing that can be. Fergus was easily conceived, but we waited a very long time for Rhianna to arrive. And it must be far worse for you, with all the pressure put upon you to conceive Cailan's heir." She paused. "Have you ever conceived? You haven't lost a child, have you?"

"No. Nothing like that, thank the Maker." The color drained from Anora's cheeks. "That would be . . . That would be so much worse."

Eleanor squeezed her hand to comfort her. "Then it might not be your fault, you know. Perhaps Cailan is incapable of giving you a child."

Anora huffed out a breath, something that seemed to express her dissatisfaction and misery all in one. "Perhaps. I'll admit I have wondered. Although it would help if we tried somewhat more often. At the beginning, everything was fine. I thought so, anyway. But then . . . well, his eyes have wandered over time. His eyes, and his hands, and everything else, as well."

_Maker's blood_. Cailan had been unfaithful to the queen.

Eleanor felt ill, both from the wave of disappointment she felt at Cailan, and at the deep anger and heartache she felt on Anora's behalf. There had always been rumors, of course - that was the way of things, especially amongst the nobility. Gossip and scandal was a currency in itself, and not even a king was exempt from rumors of infidelity. She'd heard any number of them about Cailan in recent years - rumors that he had strayed, that he had a mistress tucked away in town, that he'd been seen coming and going from the Pearl, that he'd had his way with half the serving girls in the castle.

Normally, Eleanor didn't credit these sorts of tales with much truth, and Anora and Cailan always appeared to be genuinely happy. But now it seemed as though for once, the rumors were accurate. At least in spirit, if not in the details.

"Have you spoken with him about it?" she asked carefully, taking care not to let the worst of her anger be apparent. "About what you want from him, what you expect from him in your relationship? I don't care who he is. King or not, _nothing _gives him the right to betray you in this way."

Anora seemed so very flat - not upset, not emotional - just . . . tired. "I have spoken with him. I've tried anyway. And he . . . he always promises that things will be different and he apologizes, and he's sweet to me and he's very attentive for a while, but then he goes away again." Anora blinked, and stared out into the dark garden. "And I don't know what I'm supposed to do differently."

"_Nothing_." Eleanor's voice was firm. "You don't need to do anything differently. This is _not _your fault. Cailan is to blame for his own actions." She forced herself to speak slowly, and choose her words carefully. "If Cailan is unable to behave appropriately, that is his responsibility. His fault. He is the one breaking his vows, and he is the one to be held accountable for his own behavior. Not you."

"That's . . . that's what my father says, as well."

"You've spoken with him about this?" That did come as a surprise. Loghain didn't seem the sort of man to take this sort of revelation lightly.

"Yes. I wasn't sure I should, but I had to . . . well, I had to tell someone. And you're not in Denerim all the time." She gave a rueful smile. "I almost wish I hadn't told him. It took a great deal of convincing to keep Father from wringing Cailan's neck. Which, technically, would be treason. I suppose." She sighed. "And I know you're right. I know it isn't my fault, but I just don't know how to make things better."

Anora sounded defeated, something Eleanor had never heard before. That was more troubling than the news itself, that Anora's confidence had been shaken, and understandably so. Damn Cailan to the Void. Thankfully, Eleanor had never had to deal with this in her own life, had never worried about Bryce being unfaithful. The thought seemed too ridiculous to even entertain. But somehow, it was all too easy to believe that Cailan would stray. It seemed disturbingly in character for him, in fact, and she berated herself for not having picked up on the warning signs earlier.

"It is a tricky situation," Eleanor said, frustration bubbling up in her. "Cailan is the king, and he's not accustomed to having to please anyone but himself. He's always been like that, ever since he was very young. I know Maric tried his best to raise the boy, but after Rowan died, it always seemed to me as though Cailan was allowed to run rampant and do whatever he liked. It was never instilled in him how to behave properly. And, unfortunately, now you are paying the price." Eleanor let out a slow breath. "But it isn't right."

More than anything, Eleanor wanted to say something to reassure Anora that things would get better. That Cailan would change, that there was some simple way to convince him to stop. But she couldn't say any of those things, because they weren't true. The truth was that Cailan would probably never change, and there was nothing to be done, short of asking him for a divorce. It seemed unlikely Anora would want that, considering it was common knowledge that she was the one actually running the country, while Cailan waved and smiled at his people. For Anora to give up the throne would be a disaster, both for her personally, as well as for Ferelden.

It seemed that Anora understood all of this, as well - that men were given leave to fool about as long as they smiled charmingly, and that the burden and the grief and the guilt fell to the women to bear. Anora didn't ask for advice, or soothing words; she didn't beg Eleanor to make things better. By her own admission, she'd even stood against her father, when his first instinct had been to leap to her defence. She had just needed to talk about it, to tell someone other than her father, someone who wouldn't curse and shout and charge about in a fury.

Anora was so gracious and level-headed, even in a moment of such personal heartache. Clearly, she knew full well there was genuinely nothing to be done but figure out a way to suffer through and survive this.

"When was the last time you took any sort of time to yourself?" Eleanor asked quietly. "Any time away from Denerim, from Cailan, from being queen of Ferelden?"

Anora blinked. "Time away?" She let out a long breath. "I honestly can't remember."

"Then it's been far too long. I think you should plan a trip to Highever. Sometime _soon_. Without Cailan, without anyone - just yourself, and a few of your guards. We'll ride to beach, and sail on the Waking Sea. We could hunt if you like. Something to take your mind off of things, at least for a little while."

"That sounds . . . well, it sounds a bit terrifying, to be honest." Anora chuckled softly. "Which probably means it would be a very good idea. I really can't remember the last time I did any of those things." She bit her bottom lip. "Yes. Yes, I think I will come to Highever. Soon. And thank you. Talking to you is always so . . . good for me."

Both women fell silent. A faint sound of orchestral music - the clear tones of a flute, and the beating of a drum - drifted through the night air. No doubt, another round of dancing had begun. Eleanor had no desire to return to the ball, though. Neither, it seemed, did Anora.

Anora turned to Eleanor, a deep crease in her brow. "Eleanor, can I tell you something? Something else?"

There was still something more on Anora's mind? Maker, how much weight was this woman's slim shoulders carrying? "Of course. You can tell me anything."

Anora turned to look out at the garden. She took a deep breath, and let it out again. The lines of her face were marred by a vague frown. She took another breath, clearly struggling for words.

"I'm not really sure how to say this," she said finally. "It's something I've never told anyone else. Not ever. I didn't think I ever would, but tonight I feel like . . ." Another breath. "I just feel like I need to get everything off of my chest."

When Anora fell silent again, Eleanor didn't speak. Instead, she waited for the younger woman to continue at her own pace.

After a minute, she did, in a voice barely above a whisper. "Earlier, when I said it was difficult for me to find out that I am not carrying a child . . . well, that isn't entirely true."

Eleanor hesitated, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Part of me is relieved. Every month, when I start to bleed, I'm relieved that I'm not actually pregnant."

"I don't understand. Why?"

"Because I'm _scared_. So scared of having a child." She rubbed at the back of her neck, and the expression on her face was one of abject misery. "I do want to have a baby. I truly do, for my sake and for Cailan's, as well as for Ferelden. I know it's my duty, but more than that, the thought of holding a tiny, precious child in my arms . . . That really does sound more wonderful than anything else. And when I think about a baby, about holding a baby in my arms, I can't think of a single thing that would make me happier."

She paused, swallowing several times as if she were fighting back tears. "But at the same time," she said in a small voice, "there's something inside of me that is glad I'm not pregnant. Glad I won't have to go through all of that, all the pain, and all the blood. That I won't have to risk losing this tiny person, or risk my own life in the process. I think that's part of why it's so horrible every single month. Because I know I'm letting everyone down, but at the same time, I truly am relieved. There's a part of me that never wants to become pregnant. Never wants to carry a child. And I _hate _myself for it, but I just don't know how to stop feeling this way."

A memory, of eight-year-old Anora, her eyes wide, and her lip trembling when they had walked together in the garden when Eleanor was carrying Rhianna. This wasn't just some random fear, brought on by an excess of imagination. There was something more behind this. Of course childbirth was dangerous, but Anora was young and healthy, and had a healer on hand if anything went amiss.

"What happened?" Eleanor asked gently. "What happened to make you so afraid."

Anora's gaze slipped away, almost guiltily, and she twisted her fingers together unhappily in her lap. "I . . . I suppose you don't know."

"Know what?"

"About my sister."

A sister? _What in the world?_ Celia Mac Tir had a second child? Or had Loghain been with some other woman, and conceived a child out of wedlock? Either way, Anora certainly had no sister that Eleanor had ever heard about.

"I don't think anybody knows," Anora continued miserably. "Well, Maric knew, and my father of course, and some of the people in Gwaren. But none of them ever come to Denerim, and I think Father did his best to keep things quiet after it happened."

"No, I've never heard anything about you having a sister."

Anora smoothed back the hair above her ear. "When I was . . . when I was four years old, my mother conceived another child. To be honest, now I don't remember that much about it. I don't remember her being pregnant, or understanding that's what was happening. Understanding there was a child growing inside of her. What I do remember is that she was ill, for months. She was so very ill. She would get tired just walking up the stairs.

"And my father was worried, all the time. His eyes were dark, and his shoulders hunched as he went through the days. And I was so frightened. Even before the baby came, I was frightened. My father is the strongest man I've ever known. Not just physically strong, but emotionally. He's like a rock. And I'd never seen him . . . I'd never seen him like that before. I'd never seen him afraid. And knowing that he was afraid . . . that was more frightening than anything else has ever been.

She took a shaky breath, pressing her hands down flat on her knees - but not before Eleanor noticed that they were trembling. "And then the baby came too soon. That, I remember. I remember my mother screaming, my father trying to convince me it was going to be all right, but I could tell that it wasn't. Every muscle in his body was tense, and when he tried to comfort me, it only made me more scared.

"And my mother screamed, and screamed, and there was blood, everywhere." She shuddered, and closed her eyes. "And then there was a tiny baby. Even as young as I was, I knew Deirdre was almost impossibly small. She'd come early. Too early, and she didn't live even an entire day."

What could one say to such a confession, and on the back of another just as miserable? "Anora, darling," Eleanor said softly, "I'm so sorry - for your sake, and for your mother."

Anora looked away into the darkness. "Somehow, the thing I remember most about her was her hair," she said, too caught up in the memory to acknowledge Eleanor's words. "She had so much dark hair. That always seemed out of place, somehow. And I know that she survived the birth. I remember my father holding her. Her whole body fit into one of his hands, and she cried. I remember hearing her cry."

When Anora fell silent, Eleanor reached out and took one of the young woman's hands, and held it gently. A moment later, she continued.

"Then my father built a pyre. I don't think anyone ever told me Deirdre was gone. No one ever said those words to me: your sister has died. But father built the pyre, and on it was the tiniest little bundle. No bigger than a loaf of bread. And I knew that was my sister, and she was gone."

Anora's voice cracked, and tears came into her eyes. Eleanor moved closer, and put an arm around the girl's shoulder.

Eleanor had had no idea something like that had happened, that such a tragedy had befallen their family. When Anora was four? That was well over two decades ago. It did explain a few things though - how worried Anora had been when Eleanor herself was pregnant, for one.

Oh Maker, and what about Loghain? An image came into Eleanor's mind: Loghain, his face grim, wearing a fresh shirt because the one he'd been wearing had been covered with Rhianna's blood. Loghain, sitting in the dark bedroom of the Gwaren estate, and holding Eleanor in his arms as she cried. Eleanor had been so scared then, terrified that eight-year-old Rhianna was going to die. That Eleanor's precious daughter was going to be taken from her by the plague.

How awful that must've been for him, having lost a child of his own but helping shoulder Eleanor's grief without a word of protest. And Eleanor had never known. He'd never said a word about it, never told anyone, as far as she knew. She was certain Bryce didn't know. Did anyone know? Someone must have - as Anora had said, people in Gwaren, perhaps. Loghain must not have felt comfortable telling people in Denerim. She supposed she didn't blame him, what with the stupid and cruel things people said - it was a curse for a commoner daring to raise himself up to the nobility - but she wished that she had known. How awful it must have been for him to carry that secret - such a heavy burden - all by himself.

Perhaps that was why he was so determined to nurse Rhianna back to health. So determined that he would not let her go. So determined that Rhianna would not die, the way his own daughter had. Determined that Rhianna would not die of the same plague that had taken Celia Mac Tir just months prior.

And Maker bless him for that. She truly believed Loghain Mac Tir had kept Rhianna alive. If only Eleanor had known the truth, perhaps she could have done something to ease his pain in all these long years.

"I'm so sorry," Eleanor said earnestly. "So sorry that I never knew. Your father never mentioned anything about it."

"No, I don't suppose he would have. He never was the kind to ask for help, or to want people to see his pain. Or to be reminded of it." Eleanor doubted that was the case. Well perhaps. Of course he wouldn't want to be reminded. But it was difficult to believe that someone could put a thing like that behind them, and just not think about it. Eleanor was still haunted by Rhianna's illness, and she had survived. She didn't speak any of these thoughts aloud, though.

"Not long after that," Anora continued, "Father left us. He just left. He came to Denerim, and Mother told me that he couldn't come home because the king needed him, but even when I was small, I knew that wasn't the real reason. And mother was never quite the same. She never really recovered. She was always weak, and never got back her all her strength. I've always thought that maybe that's why she wasn't strong enough to survive the plague when it arrived in Gwaren."

"Anora." Eleanor waited until Anora had turned, and Eleanor caught and held her gaze. "I can only imagine how awful that must have been for you. To watch your mother suffer, and know that your sister had died. Of course you'll have fears about carrying a child of your own. But you mustn't feel guilty about that. It's all right to be afraid; you're not betraying anyone or anything by being relieved every time you discover that you're not carrying Cailan's child. And I wish there was something I could say to make your fears go away, but there isn't. There's just one thing I want you to do. I want you to make me a promise."

"A promise? What sort of promise."

"I want you to promise me that, should you learn you've become pregnant, you will send a messenger to me right away. The very day you find out. And if I'm not here in Denerim, I'll come. I'll come and be here with you for as long as you need me. You won't have to go through any of it alone. Will you promise?"

Anora blinked, and her eyes grew bright in the light of the waning moon. "Yes. I promise."

‹›‹O›‹›


	5. With my fondest regards

_**27 Solace, 9:29 Dragon**_

‹›‹O›‹›

My dearest Anora,

I hope this letter finds you well, and in good spirits. I've asked Rhianna to deliver it, rather than send it via a traditional messenger. I'm sure the two of you will want to see one another during the week of the Landsmeet anyway, and this will give the two of you an excuse to get together.

I am writing to let you know that I will not be coming to Denerim for this year's Landsmeet. Unfortunately little Oren is sick. Nothing to be alarmed about. He's just running a fever, and the healer has assured me it's nothing serious. Even so, Oriana and Fergus both agreed that it would be better if he didn't travel at this time. So, Bryce and Rhianna will represent the Couslands this year on their own. Bryce plans to have Rhianna attend the Landsmeet, so I wouldn't have had a great deal of time with either of them, anyway. And this way I can be here to help Oriana and Fergus, should they need anything.

To be honest, the thought of not making the journey to Denerim is something of a relief. The only thing that disappoints me is that I will miss out on the time you and I usually spend together. I had looked forward to walking in the garden together, and getting caught up on all of your news. Instead, we'll just have to make do with letters.

Of course, this letter would be a good opportunity to relate to you any news of my own, but I can't really think of anything interesting to write about. Not that I'm complaining. Sometimes a lack of "interesting" events means one is living a peaceful and content life.

The weather here has been lovely; I think winter intends to come late this year, and I'm glad of it. Every winter I feel the cold seep just a little bit more deeply in my bones, and stay there a bit longer, even after the snows thaw. Last week Bryce joked that perhaps we should spend our winters in Rivain, where it's warmer. In truth, if he would agree to such a thing, I would pack my things and board a ship bound for the north in a heartbeat. But I know he wouldn't feel comfortable leaving the teyrnir for any extended amount of time. Silly, really, as Fergus is more than capable of handling things. As is Rhianna, for that matter. But I suspect I will just have to ask the servants to stoke up the fires a bit hotter, and manage here in Ferelden, as I've always done.

I would love for you to come and visit Highever again, as you did earlier in the year, although not just yet. I suggest you wait until the spring, so you'll be able to see the roses. They were more beautiful than ever before this year, and I think it has something to do with the fish. This year, the salmon harvest was good, so I've been using those instead of mackerel, and the colors of the blooms are more vibrant than they have ever been before. At first I thought it was my imagination, but Fergus and Rhianna have both assured me that I'm correct in this. The roses do seem to prefer the salmon. Doesn't that sound ridiculous? Even so, I do believe it is true.

Well, as you can see, if I'm already writing about tending the rose garden, I really haven't any genuine news to share. I do hope to have a bit of extremely happy news in the very near future, but it's too soon for me to speak of that just yet (and besides, it's very likely you'll hear it from someone else first - someone in Denerim - long before you hear it from me). So, I shall sign off now, with a request that you write to me soon, and tell me all your news, since I won't be there this season to hear it from you in person. Until then, I wish you nothing but good health and happiness.

With my fondest regards,

Eleanor

‹›‹O›‹›


	6. The garden of roses

_**15 August, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Denerim Palace**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

There had been rumours from the south for weeks, and now that all the answers to her questions lay within her reach, on the opposite side of the table as it were, Anora was no longer sure she wanted them.

Anora dined with her father, just the two of them, in Anora's study. As they ate the roast pheasant and asparagus, she could feel his eyes on her, and a gentle crease marred his forehead. He was worried about her, that much was clear, and it felt . . . strange. Not that he hadn't worried about her before; of course he had. But somehow, this felt different. As though he thought her fragile in some way she had never been before.

Perhaps he was right. Earlier in the day, he'd brought her the news that Cailan was dead. Killed in the battle that had taken place just outside the ruined city of Ostagar. And Loghain himself seemed shaken from the events of the last few weeks. Not fragile, not a man like her father, but just . . . off centre.

She chewed carefully on her supper, aware of how he watched her. "You said that you were able to retreat with all your Gwaren troops, and part of Maric's Shield?"

"Yes," he replied. "A total of about two thousand soldiers." He let out a sigh. "Which is not going to be nearly enough, considering the horde numbers at least ten thousand now. Maybe more." He paused. "Although they took losses at Ostagar, as well, but . . . I wish we knew more about how they . . . reproduce. Or what their numbers might be like underground. I honestly have no way of knowing how many of them we're actually facing now." He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his chin, a gesture she recognised as one of frustration. "We had a good tactical position at Ostagar. I should never have agreed . . ." He shook his head. "Well, that's not important now. What matters is to assess the situation, and build a new army to defend against the horde."

"There are still nobles who have their standing armies," Anora said. "Surely, once they're gathered together, we'll have a force capable of taking on the darkspawn."

He grunted noncommittally. "Perhaps. But we'll need to recruit soldiers from among the populace as well."

She took a sip of her wine. "Of course," she said, with the same sort of calm tone that she might have used were she discussing the weather, not the fallout from a disastrous battle and the inevitable descent into war. "You know you'll have my full support in that. And I will write to our neighbors for help. The Free Marches. Antiva. Nevarra, if they can be persuaded to send troops while they're at war with Orlais."

"We'll need to call a Landsmeet, as well," he suggested, staring into his own wine goblet. "And have you confirmed as queen, as soon as possible."

"Yes."

A stab of something like grief stabbed through her. She would be queen, all on her own, because Cailan was _dead._

When she stopped long enough to actually _feel_ the things inside of her, there was an emptiness there held back by something thin and brittle and glassy. Something likely to shatter into thousands of tiny sharp shards if she handled it roughly, or looked at it too closely. She was scared to think of what might happen if that emptiness managed to break through.

She didn't have the luxury of falling apart. Certainly not now. Not when there was so much to be done, and it would fall upon her to do it. Her, and her father. Thank the Maker for him. He would stand at her side, and together they would do what needed to be done to protect Ferelden.

Now, he didn't coddle her, or offer pity. He merely sat with her, and she was grateful for the strength of his presence. Still, there was something in his gaze that suggested he'd not yet delivered all the bad news he had to share.

As if the day could get any worse.

She put down her fork again, and took another sip from her wine glass. "It seems there are other troubles in Ferelden, in addition to the darkspawn. There are rumors that something happened in Highever. Apparently, the elves in the Alienage rioted, but I haven't heard anything that resembles an accurate report. It all sounds very far-fetched, but I fear for the Couslands nonetheless. Have you heard anything about it?" She paused. "Bryce was at Ostagar, wasn't he? What did he have to say about it? Or did the troubles happen only after he left Highever?"

Her father's eyes darkened, a deep furrow formed across his brow, and a muscle in his cheek twitched, once.

A flutter of fear erupted in Anora's chest.

"There were no elven riots." He paused. "The Couslands were murdered. Betrayed by Rendon Howe."

The world shifted sideways. "What?" Had she misheard him? "Murdered? That can't be right."

"I know it sounds implausible, but it's true. I heard the story directly from Rhianna. She was there the night it happened, and only barely escaped with her life. Rendon Howe attacked the castle in the middle of the night, and murdered the family."

"No," she repeated, shaking her head. "That can't be right. You must have misunderstood." She forced herself to breathe through the wave of panic that began to swamp her.

Loghain shook his head, his expression haunted. "There's no misunderstanding. After Fergus marched south toward Ostagar with Highever's soldiers, Howe's men attacked the castle, in the middle of night. He'd planned to murder everyone in their sleep, but Rhianna managed to escape." He paused. "Bryce and Eleanor are both dead, though, as are Fergus' wife and son."

Bryce and Eleanor were dead? The meal Anora had just eaten threatened to come back up again, and she clutched at the wooden arm of her chair, to steady herself.

Eleanor had been . . . well, Anora had always looked up to the teyrna. Eleanor was unfailingly kind, and had helped Anora navigate the pitfalls of the Denerim court when she was young, since Anora's mother chose to stay in Gwaren. No other woman at court had ever reached out to Anora in any way that wasn't obviously self-serving, but Eleanor had been wonderful. She had offered such genuine affection and kindness and, later, friendship.

The thought that she was dead . . .

"No." She took a breath. "Not Eleanor. And little Oren. No, I don't understand."

She squeezed her eyes shut, until the heat behind them faded. She did not want to cry. Not again. Not today. If she started to cry again now, she feared that the brittle calm she had managed thus far truly would shatter. "How could Rendon Howe have _done_ such a thing? He was Bryce's friend."

"I honestly do not know." His voice was deeper than usual, and his shoulders slumped. It was clear this weighed heavily on him, as well. "All I can say is that Howe will not get away with this treachery."

"No." Anora sat up straighter. "No, he won't." Another breath, until she was certain she could speak without her voice shaking. "What of Rhianna? How awful this whole thing must have been for her. To lose her family like that. She must have been devastated."

"Yes," he murmured, and his eyes grew dark again. "She was."

"You said she escaped and you saw her at Ostagar. Where is she now?" A breath caught in her throat. "She wasn't in the battle, was she? Don't tell me that she died, too, at Ostagar."

Her father held up his hands, in a gesture of calm. "Rhianna was at Ostagar as a Grey Warden, but she didn't fight in the battle. As far as I know, she's still alive."

_Thank the Maker for some mercies._ "Did you say Rhianna is a Grey Warden? How in all the world did that come about?"

"Duncan was in Highever on the night Howe's men attacked. He helped Rhianna escape, but the cost was that he conscripted her into the order."

"No doubt she'll have plenty to do now as a Grey Warden, won't she? Maker knows we'll need them." She looked into his eyes. "How are we going to fight the darkspawn with most of the army gone?"

He held her gaze, and the conviction in his eyes was like a balm for her soul. "We'll manage, Anora. I promise. We'll recruit more soldiers, from anywhere we can get them." He shrugged. "Winter is coming, and perhaps that will work in our favor. I think the darkspawn spend most of their time below ground, so perhaps the snow will keep them from coming to the surface, and give us time to raise a new army." He paused. "I know things seem . . . dire, at the moment. But we will pull through this. You'll keep your throne, and we'll defeat the darkspawn without losing ground to Orlais, or anyone else." He reached over and took one of her hands. "We will pull Ferelden through this. I promise."

‹›‹O›‹›

After their plates had been cleared away and her father had left, Anora got up from her chair, and walked over to the window. She looked out at the garden, and the sight of the roses - something that usually made her so happy - brought fresh tears to her eyes. Roses reminded Anora of her own mother, and of Eleanor, both.

Dearest Eleanor, who had been something very like a mother to Anora all these years.

Anora looked away. She didn't want to cry. She had very nearly cried in front of her father. She knew the tears would come, but she wasn't ready for them yet. Not now. Not in the light of day. She would wait until darkness fell, and she could be assured of privacy.

_Eleanor was dead. _

It seemed impossible, and horrible. Almost worse than when Anora's own mother had died, because somehow, that hadn't really come as a surprise. Celia had been ill on and off for so long. Anora had never wanted to admit it, or think about it, or put those thoughts into words, but she had always known that her mother was fragile and their time together was limited.

But Eleanor had been so strong, so vibrant and full of life. And to think that she was dead. Murdered by Rendon Howe. It was hard to imagine anything more shocking. Rhianna would be devastated. And Fergus, of course, but somehow Anora thought this would hit Rhianna even harder. Rhianna had been close to her mother, that much had been obvious, and Rhianna was still so young. Well, perhaps not so young. Rhianna was older than Anora had been when her mother had died. That would not make the pain and the grief any easier for her, though.

So many times over the years Eleanor had been there for her. Eleanor had _always _been there, with a smile, or a kind word. She'd pulled Anora away when the other girls tried to bully her. She'd taught Anora how to stand up for herself, in ways that even Anora's father had never done.

Anora loved Eleanor. Loved her dearly, _fiercely_, and now she was gone. It was almost too awful to contemplate. And Bryce, of course. And Oriana, and little Oren. It was a tragedy all the way around. Fergus would be devastated by the loss particularly of his wife and son. But to think that Eleanor was no longer in this world, that hurt as much as Anora could remember anything ever hurting. She stood, and smoothed out the creases in her gown, doing her best to tamp down on the pain until she felt nothing but numb.

Then she left her quarters and approached one of her personal guards. "I would like you come with me, out into the city."

"Of course, Your Majesty. Where would you like to go?"

"To the Cathedral," she said, and she was proud of herself that her voice did not tremble at all. "I should like to light some candles."

Tonight, she would light candles. And in the spring, she would plant roses in Eleanor's memory. Alongside the ones she had planted for her mother, and Deirdre. Yellow, to match Eleanor's bright spirit. And she would tend them herself, as she did with the others. Perhaps someday, her heart would stop hurting, and she would be able to walk out in the sunshine, and enjoy the garden of roses she had planted, to remind her of those she had loved and lost.

And she would watch the yellow bloom, bright like the sun and just as warm and welcoming, and she would remember the most gracious woman she had ever had the honour of knowing.

‹O›

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_A huge and special thank you to Defira, who went above and beyond the call of duty in betaing this story. I had some health problems this month, and she did a truly gorgeous job of turning my not-ready-to-publish draft into a beautifully polished story that could be submitted by the due date. Thank you, Kirsty, so so so so much. I honestly don't have words for how grateful I am for everything you've done. Also thanks to Amanda Kitswell, for her beta advice as well, and to A Solitary Rose, who inspired me to write this story in the first place._


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